Hidden Scars
by LuvIshida1985
Summary: Duo is not the hyperactive hyper boy he appears to be.  What will the others do when they discover his secret?  warning for cutting.  could be triggering
1. Chapter 1: Crazy? Who Me?

_Standard Disclaimers apply_

**Hidden Scars**

**Chapter 1: Crazy? Who me?**

Am I crazy? Probably. Do I care? Not one little bit.

My name is Duo Maxwell, gundam pilot and jokester extraordinaire. My days are spent either on missions or keeping my fellow gundam pilots amused with my absurdity. My nights, however, are spent in a completely different manner than the nightly function of sleep. Instead, I lock myself in my room, sitting in only a pair of boxers, with a razorblade in my hand. My trusty friend; it enables me to chase away my worries, fears, and most importantly, my pain. The pain of being who I am; of the horrible things that I have done; and the things I know I should have done but never bothered to try. There are so many things that I wish I could change; there is so much guilt and I don't know how to cope with it all. That is why I find myself in my current position, on my bedroom floor, blood slowly snaking its way down my arms and thighs.

I wonder what the others would think if they saw me like this. Would they be disgusted? Concerned? Shocked? Would they even care? I don't see why they would. If I were them, I wouldn't care about me either. But if they did know, what would I tell them. "Gee guys, I was just curious about how it felt. It's no big deal." Yeah, that would go over well. But how does one explain that the reason they go about slicing and dicing their own skin is because they feel utterly and completely empty inside? It's not an easy thing to explain unless the other person has been in that position themselves.

It's true though, I feel completely hollow. Like there is a large gaping hole somewhere inside of me and no matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to fill it or make it any smaller. It just seems to keep growing the harder I try to resist it. It is fed by my feelings of loneliness, neglect, worthlessness, and hurt….everything that I have felt over the course of my life.

I sigh and slowly stand up, pausing to let the dizziness pass before heading to the adjoining bathroom. I stop in front of the mirror and survey the new damage I've inflicted upon myself. The new cuts stand out in stark contrast to my pale skin. The angry red lines criss-crossing with the pink and white lines of older, half-healed and scarred cuts. I sigh again and step out of my boxers and into the shower to clean myself up. It wouldn't do to develop an infection. I watch in mild fascination as the water slowly turns an odd shade of pink as it collects near the drain, only to disappear from sight an instant later. I don't know how long I stand there, a steady stream of warm water falling on my shoulders, helping to relax me; but I finally turn the water off and step out onto the plush carpet. I go to the medicine cabinet, grab the antibacterial cream and head back to my room.

After applying the cream and a bandage or two to some of the deeper wounds, I flop unceremoniously onto the fluffy mattress that Quatre has in each bedroom of his large estate. I roll over onto my stomach and holding my arms out in front of me, look at the network of scars, scabs, and angry red lines.

"I wish things were different," I whisper brokenly to the empty room. "I never meant for it to get this bad."

It's true; I never thought that I would spend every night and sometimes days, locked away in my room with a bloody razorblade, clutched like a lifeline in my fist. I feel like screaming, crying, anything to let out how I'm feeling or give some indication to the others that I am anything but okay. Instead, I roll over and close my eyes, waiting for the restless sleep, I know will come, to overtake me.

I wake to the sound of someone knocking lightly on my door.

"Duo? Duo are you awake?" I hear Quatre call quietly. Sitting up, I stretch my arms above my head and slowly clamber off the bed. I throw a sweatshirt on to cover my arms and then open the door to the small, smiling blonde.

"Good morning Quatre. What's going on?" I ask as cheerfully as I possibly can.

"I just wanted to let you know that breakfast is ready," he smiles gently at me.

"Ok, I'll be down in five," I reply as I go back into my room to get some sweatpants on and to brush and re-braid my tangled mass of hair before finally making my way downstairs to the very large kitchen. The others are already sitting at the table when I walk in. I grin.

"Hey guys! What's for breakfast?" I ask as I pull out my chair and sit, trying my best to be my usual bouncy, hyperactive self. They all roll their eyes at me and start passing plates piled with bacon, eggs, and an assortment of breakfast pastries. As expected, I pile my plate high with food and begin shoveling food into my mouth at an alarming speed, even though I have absolutely no appetite and the thought of food makes my stomach churn.

"Any plans for the day guys?" I ask in between mouthfuls of egg.

"I'm going to visit some of my sisters. They're on L4 for a few days," Quatre says cheerfully.

"That's cool! What about you guys?" I ask looking to Heero and Wufei.

"We have a mission and we'll most likely be gone for a few days," Heero replies in his icy monotone.

"Trowa?" I ask looking to the quiet Heavyarms pilot. He shrugs.

"Staying here. Maybe making a few modifications to Heavyarms' system."

I nod. "I'm gonna veg out all day. You don't care if I raid your movie library do ya Quat?"

"Of course not Duo. Take whatever you'd like," he says with a bright smile.

"Awsome! You're the best!" I reply energetically.

Once breakfast is done, we all go our separate ways, and I immediately head for Quatre's very large entertainment room. After picking several movies out, I put one it and, grabbing a blanket, curl up in the large overstuffed arm chair that I pulled over to face the television. Somewhere between the opening credits and the first five minutes of the movie, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, there is a gently shake of my shoulder and the movie is over. I look up groggily at Trowa and smirk slightly; although, it probably looks more like a grimace than a smirk.

"What's up Trowa?" He gives me half a smile.

"It's 12:30. I was wondering if you wanted some lunch. You've been sleeping for almost four hours. Did you not sleep well last night?" he asks a slight hint of concern in his voice.

I shrug. "I slept alright. I'm just not feeling too well today. I think I might be coming down with something," I lie smoothly.

"Well, I think soup for lunch is a good idea then," he replies quietly as I follow him into the kitchen. I perch myself on one of the stools at the island and watch as he moves about getting out a pot and a can of soup. I let my mind wander and only snap back to the present when a hand is waved in front of my face.

"You were pretty far away there. What were you thinking about so intently?" Trowa asks, curiosity lacing his words. I blush and look at my hands.

"Nothing really. Just spacing out," I reply, as he sets a bowl of soup in front of me.

"Are you sure you're feeling ok. You seem really out of it today?" My blush deepens at his comment.

"I'm fine. Really, it's nothing."

It figures, the one who rarely every speaks picks today to be talkative. Why can't he just leave me alone. I mentally slap myself for even thinking that. He's just concerned about me, no need for me to be snippy, even if it is just in my thoughts.

"Want to watch the next movie with me?" I ask by way of apologizing for my horrible thoughts. Even though he doesn't know what I'm thinking, it makes me feel better just asking.

"Sure. Why not?" he replies with a small smile.

"Great! Let's get started then," I reply ecstatically as I bounce back into the entertainment room, Trowa trailing behind at a more subdued pace.

"Which one do you want to watch?" I ask as I hold up three movies. He surveys them before picking one and moving to put it in. I smile to myself. He picked the one I wanted. I love _Interview With A Vampire._ I grab my blanket and plop myself down on the couch. Trowa follows and sits on the couch as well. About half way through the movie I yawn widely and start to feel a little groggy.

"Trowa? Can I use you as a pillow?" I ask quietly. He nods and I rearrange myself so that my head is now in his lap. He unconsciously starts to run his fingers through my hair and I slowly start to drift into sleep; but before I do, I say something that is completely out of character for even me.

"Thank you Trowa. It means more than you know that you stayed home today. Thank you…"

"You're very welcome," he says quietly. "I care about you Duo, and I just want to see you happy again."

My eyes snap open at that statement. "What do you mean 'see me happy again'? I'm happy right now," I say defensively. He just looks at me for a moment, his one visible green eye seeing straight through me.

"No. You're not," he replies. "Your eyes don't sparkle like they used to when you were happy. I know that something is wrong…" he trails off without finishing the statement.

I study him for a minute. Then it hits me. He knows something is wrong and he is not ignoring it like I thought he would. He really does care. Here he is, showing that he's concerned. Knowing this makes me feel…I can't even explain what it feels like. Then suddenly, I'm overcome with panic. What if he finds out my secret? What will he do? How will he react? I don't want to find out. I need to get out of here; I need to go to my room; to get escape Trowa's piercing green gaze. I slowly stand and walk a few paces toward the door.

"I'm gonna go upstairs and take a nap," I explain, clenching my fists nervously at my sides. Trowa stands and walks over to me.

"Duo, let me help you please. If you want to talk or anything, I'm always here for you. Just please, let me help you," he pleads, the desperation evident in his voice. I feel bad making him worry, causing him any kind of pain. Yet another thing that is my fault. But I can't stay here. I can't risk him finding out and deciding he doesn't want to deal with it. Or even worse, deciding he doesn't want to be my friend anymore. I turn to head upstairs to take refuge in my blade, but I pause in the doorway and look back at him.

"It's too late. You can't help me. No one can. I'm beyond help." My words are no louder than a whisper as I turn and quickly flee to the solace of my room.


	2. Chapter 2: Will You Still Be My Friend?

_Standard Disclaimers apply_

**Hidden Scars**

**Chapter 2: Will You Still Be My Friend When You Know?**

As soon as I'm out of sight, I practically run up the stairs, headed for my bedroom and the comfort I know resides within. As I reach for the doorknob, I realize, with some surprise, that I'm shaking. I bring my shaking hand up to eye level and stare at it in amazement. This has never happened before. I **never **shake. The only emotion I ever show is happiness. That is the mask that I chose and it has never once wavered, until now apparently.

I go into my room, lock the door, and stand before my full length mirror, looking at myself as the others must see me. Trademark grin…check. All black clothing…check. Long, braided hair…check. Wonderful acting abilities…check.

If only they knew that everything they see is all an incredibly well fabricated lie. During the war I was the one who kept everyone's spirits up by doing stupid things or telling funny stories or jokes. Once the war was over, I kept that mask on. I was afraid that if I took it off, my friends wouldn't care about me anymore. That they would find me repulsive and reject the "me" that is underneath it all. I look back at my reflection. My lips are set into a frown, no smile to be found and hollow, dead eyes are staring back at me.

"I'm pathetic. I'm weak. I'm worthless." I whisper the words to myself, just as I have done a thousand times before, as I head for my nightstand and the blade that resides within the small drawer. Making sure that the door is still locked, I slump down where I am, not caring one bit that, if Trowa wanted to, he could easily pick the lock on my door and walk right in to witness what I am about to do. Rolling up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I carefully, almost reverently, put the blade to the soft skin of my forearm and drag it across slowly, savoring the feeling of my flesh separating.

I stay like this for what, to me, seems like a very long time. I just sit on the floor in front of my door and watch my own blood slowly drip down my arms and pool at my elbows before dripping down to soak into my black sweatpants. I am mesmerized by the beauty of it. These are **mine**, made by me to repent for all of the sins that I have committed.

I'm not sure how long I stay on the floor, but I eventually stand up and make my way to my bathroom to clean myself up. As I rinse the drying blood off my arms, I realize that one of the wounds is still bleeding profusely. In fact, it shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.

"SHIT!" I curse loudly as I frantically hold a towel to my wound and search under the sink for a first aid kit. I rummage around for a minute before pulling out with a relieved sigh and a first aid kit in hand. "Thank God," I mutter as I open it and pull out some butterfly bandaids and some gauze. Pulling back the towel, I survey the damage. It's about a five inch gash; deep enough to need stitches, but not deep enough to knick the vein. I carefully apply the band aids that will help hold my skin in place and then wrap my whole forearm in gauze to prevent it from reopening.

How could I be so stupid? How could I lose myself like that? I'm always so careful. I must be more rattled than I thought. I go back into my room and fall face first into the soft mattress and pillows. "I'm such an idiot."

I lay here for awhile thinking about everything that has happened today and over the past few months. The more time I spend here with the others, the worse I feel for hiding these things from them. I want so badly to tell them, to have them care and help me be okay again; but I don't even know where to begin. How do you tell your friends that on most days you don't want to get out of bed because it takes too much energy? Or that you want to die because it would be better than living with the constant pain that you feel inside of you. How do I put my friends through the hurt and disgust of what I've hidden from them for so long?

Unbidden, tears start to fall down my face. I swipe furiously at them, but they refuse to stop and soon my whole body is shaking with the force of my sobs. I curl into a fetal position and cry and cry and cry some more. I'm vaguely aware of the soft knocking at my door and Trowa asking me if he can come in.

"Go away. Please, just go away," I say quietly, desperately. The last thing I need is for him to see me like this.

"Duo, please let me in," he says, genuine worry present in his voice. I sigh, swipe angrily at my face and decide to screw it all and go to open the door. I pause, roll down my sleeves, take a deep breath, and unlock the door before quickly retreating back to the comfort and safety of my pillows. I bury my face in hopes of muffling my sobs, but the shaking of my shoulders is enough to betray me. I hear the door open and a moment later the bed dips down as Trowa sits and gently places a hand on my shoulder.

"Duo?" he asks in a whisper. "Duo, look at me." I bury my face deeper in the pillows and will Trowa to just give up and walk away. It doesn't work. He hooks his fingers under my chin and gently forces me to unbury my face and look him in the eyes. I see one visible green eye and then quickly look down, ashamed that he has seen me like this, in my moment of weakness. Duo Maxwell does not cry…**ever.**

"Leave me alone…please," I whisper in a last desperate attempt to get him to leave so that I can go back to pretending that everything is fine. He looks at me and slowly shakes his head.

"I can't and I won't. Let me help you Duo. Please?" He looks upset, and he looks so hurt by my attempts to push him away and that just makes me cry harder. I hesitate for about three seconds and then I launch myself into Trowa's arms. I bury my face in his chest and he wraps his arms tightly around me, just holding me while I continue to breakdown right before his eyes.

"It's okay Duo. Just let it all out," he tells me. He continues to hold me and rub soothing circles across my back while I continue to cry as I've never cried before. I guess all those years of pretending to be fine are catching up to me; but I'm kind of glad that I'm not alone right now. I think that would be infinitely worse than one of my friends seeing past my mask. That could potentially lead to much worse things than just tears. Slowly, very slowly, my tears begin to decrease and eventually my sobs die down to soft whimpers. And still Trowa holds me. He starts to move away from me but I desperately clutch his waist tighter in desperation.

"Don't go," I say hoarsely. He nods and shifts so that both of us are leaning against the headboard and I am still resting comfortably on his chest. I stare at the bedspread for awhile trying to decide what to say, how to explain my breakdown. I can't believe I had a breakdown like that. I have never allowed myself to cry, whether alone or with someone else, but something in Trowa's eyes told me that he understood, at least a little bit, and it made me feel more at ease.

"I'm sorry," I say in a barely recognizable voice.

"It's okay. You have nothing to apologize for," he replies as he continues to rub my back. "Are…are you okay?"

"Ye…" I trail off. Why lie? I'm too tired to keep pretending. I'm not strong enough and I just don't have the energy anymore. What harm could it do anyway? It's not like he didn't just watch me break down and cry like a little boy. "No. I'm not okay. I'm never okay," I say so quietly that I'm not sure he can hear me.

"Why? What's wrong?" he asks just as quietly. I let out a bitter, hollow laugh.

"What's right?" I ask bitterly. "I'm just so fucked up and I don't know how to fix anything. I'm not even sure that I want to," I say as I bury my face in his shirt again. He tightens his grip on me but doesn't say anything. He knows that I will talk when I'm good and ready, so he doesn't push me and for that I am grateful.

We sit in silence while I debate on whether or not to attempt to explain myself to him. I want to, but I don't. It would be nice to have somebody to go to when I need to talk, but at the same time, I've always dealt with everything on my own and changing that now scares me shitless.

I raise my hand to push my bangs out of my face and notice that my shaking has returned. I know that Trowa has noticed, so I quickly sit up and look at him. He's looking at me with concern and again I see that unidentifiable emotion in his eye. I sigh and look down at my hands, which I am nervously wringing in my lap.

"I don't know what to tell you," I whisper. "I don't want you to be disgusted and run away from me. And I don't want to hurt you in anyway." He quirks his eyebrow at me but otherwise he remains silent.

"I don't know how to explain it. It's hard to describe." I fall silent for a few minutes thinking about what to say next.

"Duo, just say what comes to mind and I'll try my best to understand. I promise you that I won't run away or be disgusted. I could never do that to you," he reassures in his soft baritone.

"Don't be so sure," I say under my breath as I return to staring at my hand as if they hold the secret to happiness. I can't bear to see the disgust or hurt that I know will be in his eyes when I explain what I have become; when I tell him what I have resorted to doing to myself and why I do it.

"I…I'm not who you think I am. None of you know who I am, not really. You only know the mask of Duo Maxwell that I chose to wear during the war." I spare a brief glance at his face before continuing at his encouraging nod. "Every one was always so somber and I just wanted to make them forget about the war for a little bit. So I put on my joker's mask and acted ridiculous all of the time. Once the war was over, I just found it easier to keep the mask in place, but…." I trail off and chew on my fingernail in nervousness. This is going to be the hard part.

"But?" Trowa asks softly. I glance up and his eyes meet mine and I find a little bit of strength in the emotion shining through.

"But every day that I kept that mask on, a part of me died. It became harder and harder to keep up the cheerful act…and I never had anyone to teach me how to deal with my feelings, so I found my own way…" again I trail off and glance nervously out the window. "I…I…." I let out a defeated sigh as I stand up and walk a few paces from the bed. Slowly, I pull my sweatshirt over my head, followed by my tee shirt.

"Duo, what are you doing?" Trowa asks quietly as I begin to slide my sweatpants down my legs. I slowly step out of the black fabric that is now pooled on the floor and take a very deep breath. I turn around to face Trowa and focus my gaze against the far wall so that I don't have to see his face when he realizes what exactly it is that I am showing him. I step forward to the edge of the bed and the only sound that is heard in the room is the surprised gasp that Trowa lets out when I step into the light streaming in through the window.


End file.
